Mutual Feelings
by Darkwing the Assassin
Summary: Ezio/Leonardo. YAOI/BOY ON BOY - YE HAVE BEEN WARNED.  Perhaps Ezio and Leonardo aren't so different after all. But how does a shy artist display his true feelings for the cold blooded assassin, anyway?


Venice - 1486

"_Never look for me again, Ezio."_

Cristina's words played again and again in his mind. He reminisced of all the times she told him they would always be together, and how she used to laugh at his sincere ideas of leaving Firenze to be free from her father's stern disapproval of their relationship. He simply couldn't bear the thought of never feeling her soft whispers in his ear or the sweet smile that appeared when…

But what was the point of reminding himself of something that would just make the sadness more unbearable? Sitting against the wall of a courtyard garden, he brought his hands to his face, trying to hold back the pain he felt. The tears forced themselves to the surface, and it wasn't long before he felt them slide down his face to land on the grass and dirt underneath. The only other time he had allowed himself to cry was after the death of his father and two brothers. Carrying their lifeless bodies… it almost seemed as though they were asleep, but he wasn't foolish enough to actually believe that. Ezio considered himself strong-willed, and though he was able to hide his emotions when he slid his hidden blade across an enemies' neck, this time he was hit hard. It was strange, to feel such misery when the carnival was erupting with enthusiasm and spirit nearby. His thoughts drifted off into more despair, until he heard a familiar voice not far off calling his name.

"Ezio! Ezio, where have you run off to?"

The friendly, warm voice called franticly, and the assassin could hear the heavy panting as the owner of the voice paused to take a break from running. It hurt just a little more when Ezio thought of how he caused his friend to worry about him… but at the same time, he did not feel like talking to the other, to hide his weakness under the carnival mask and fake laughter once again. As he heard the footsteps pick up to a steady walk, he pulled the eagle hood around his face a little tighter, hiding his shameful eyes. It took only a moment for him to be lost in his own thoughts again, to barely hear anything around him.

Everyone that passed by the garden door took no notice of the man shrouded by shadows. They were far too focused on the entertainment all around in the _palazzo_ and streets. Time passed, and the carnival died down only slightly. Apparently, Venetians didn't hesitate to carry on the celebration long into the early hours of the morning. By the time the festivities _had_ slowed, the only evidence remaining from the night before were tattered decorations and a few masks, now broken or dirtied, strewn about the now empty, twisting streets like anyone who tried to clean up had been too drunk and unable to finish the job.

The assassin still lay in the garden, dazed and sleepy, when he heard footsteps approach the entrance. A shadowed figure sighed, and took a seat on the stone bench, resting his face on his hands with a frown. Even though his eyes had finally adjusted to the morning light, the fog was almost too thick to peer through, to even see anything ten feet away. Putting on the silver mask that lay next to him, he squinted hard, and saw the figure shine blue before him. Even though his eagle vision told him otherwise, he wanted to escape. However, the person sitting on the bench stood up and walked towards him, smiling with relief.

"Ezio! I thought I would never find you after I saw you running through the _carnevale_, and here you are… sitting… on the ground… Ezio, why _are_ you sitting on the ground?"

"Leonardo…!" Ezio ignored the question, not wanting to let his dearest friend know what happened with Cristina. He smiled at his friend, this time a truthfully happy smile. Knowing that he still had one of his oldest friends to care about him made the ordeal of the previous night a little lighter. The artist crouched closer to Ezio, a concerned expression furrowing his eyebrows and turning down his lips. Leonardo reached behind Ezio wearily and grabbed the eagle-shaped hood, pulling it back to reveal Ezio's masked face. He then gently removed the mask, and grimaced as he saw the tear stains and tiredness shown plainly on his friend's face.

"Ezio, you look unwell. What have you been doing all this time?"

The assassin couldn't bring himself to answer, even though he wanted to. He stood up, towering over Leonardo unsteadily. He'd forgotten to eat anything much the night before, after what happened… and he almost fell over, but the artist caught him before he did. As much as he wanted to run away… he smiled, his face resting against Leonardo's chest. "_Grazie mille, mio amico_." He managed to say, though it was muffled by his friend's shirt. Before he knew it, sleep had claimed him, and he felt safe and warm in the darkness it brought.

Leonardo stumbled backward slightly as he felt Ezio's full weight fall on him. He stood upright, sighing, and then laughed at the sheer awkwardness of the situation. If only Ezio knew how much he'd dreamt of this situation… though it wasn't nearly as romantic as he'd hoped it'd be. He sighed again, this time keeping his friend upright while he reached down to pick up the silver carnival mask he'd lent him. Taking the assassin gently in his arms, he scooped him up into a position that was easier to handle, resting Ezio's head against his shoulder. He started walking to his workshop, having trouble with carrying such a heavy weight, but froze after only a few steps.

Leonardo looked down at the sleeping man. He could feel the warm breath on his neck and hear the steady, peaceful breathing. Although Leonardo knew that Ezio's occupation was being a part-time cold-blooded killer, he looked as innocent as a tiny kitten while sleeping… Leonardo smiled and laughed quietly, pushing the assassin's stray bangs out of his face, and tracing the contours of his face softly with his fingers. Ezio reacted in his sleep, trying to bat away at Leonardo's hand half-heartedly. He was too exhausted to open his eyes, though. The artist continued walking down the street towards his workshop, this time being more careful as to not wake Ezio.

After several pauses to catch his breath, Leonardo finally managed to reach his workshop (which doubled as a house on the second floor). The body in his arms twitched as if from a bad dream, and deep brown eyes stared up at him sleepily. Leonardo blushed, embarrassed and worried that Ezio would yell at him for carrying him all the way. But the eyes closed and the assassin just mumbled something nonsensically as he fell asleep again. Leonardo was fairly sure that Ezio wouldn't remember that moment once he actually woke up. Pushing his way through the front door, the artist carried his friend up the stairs (with extreme difficulty, almost stumbling backwards in the process) and into the spare bedroom next to his own. He sighed heavily, wiping the sweat from his brow after he laid Ezio in the bed and pulled covers over him. Leonardo thought about changing the assassin into more appropriate sleeping clothes, but just the thought brought redness to his cheeks, and he definitely knew he didn't want Ezio waking up to _that_.

He sighed again, shaking his head at the idea. Stepping into his own room this time, he prepared himself for much needed sleep.

—

By noon, Leonardo was awake again. He hurriedly got dressed and ran to the guest room. As he had suspected, it was empty, and the only trace the assassin left behind was the messy covers on the bed. The artist sighed, since he had been secretly hoping Ezio wouldn't have left yet. Grumbling to himself, he turned towards the staircase, reminding himself of all the work he had to finish by the end of the week, and wishing he could throw it all into a storage room somewhere and forget about it. His mind was much too focused on more immediate problems than the commissioned paintings he was supposed to do.

Leonardo entered the front of his workshop, where he kept all the codex pages and machine designs he was working on. Still half asleep and not quite awake yet, he rubbed his eyes, and stared at Ezio poking around the workshop. Wait a minute… _Ezio was in his workshop._ The artist did a double-take before he believed what he saw. Well, at least now he had all the motivation he needed to do work. But what could the assassin possibly want with Leonardo now? Did he bring another codex page? Oh, _how exciting_! Even if there wasn't one, the back of Leonardo's mind was hoping Ezio had decided to quit assassinating and become an artist's assistant… specifically, _his_ assistant. The artist became lost in his thoughts, daydreaming of the man standing in front of him… well, until the other actually acknowledged him.

Ezio looked towards his friend, smiling awkwardly. "Leonardo! I was hoping you'd come down soon…"

"Ezio, I didn't expect you to still be in my workshop. Didn't you have some business with the thieves to attend to today? How can I help you?"

"_Si_. I have to meet Antonio soon. But I seem to be have come across a problem… and…" he trailed off, right as his stomach decided to growl loudly. Ezio pulled his hood over his face in embarrassment. He didn't want to be a burden on his friend, yet he was, plainly put, _starving_.

"Ah, yes,_ mio amico_. I'm sure I have something you would like. But I must warn you, I don't eat any meat…" Leonardo _was_ a vegetarian after all. He didn't enjoy the idea of harming, not to mention killing another living creature, one bit.

"_Grazie_, Leonardo."

After giving Ezio a warm meal and food for the road (Leonardo couldn't help but worry if Ezio would forget to eat… again), the artist watched as the assassin left the workshop with a quick "_Arrivederci_." He turned to the blank canvas board and began to paint absentmindedly. Sometimes Leonardo wondered if Ezio would ever know how he felt, or even understand. He didn't expect Ezio to return the feelings. After all, he had Cristina. How could Leonardo ever compete against her? This time, the lonely painter became lost in his hopelessness, which grew more and more with every paint stroke.


End file.
